


If I were allowed to want one thing

by o0_Kiyomitsu_0o



Series: Times we met but didn't know [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Tony Stark, BAMF Tony Stark, Both love Tony and I love them, Briefly mentioned torture, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Charity Gala, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, James "Rhodey" Rhodes (mentioned) - Freeform, M/M, Pepper Potts (mentioned) - Freeform, Protective Tony Stark, Violence, Weird Fluff, hurt/comfort/more hurt, probably not the right way sensory overload works, the asset doesn't understand what's going on, the assets point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o/pseuds/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o
Summary: The asset finds himself at a charity gala on a mission to eliminate a threat Hydra wants to see gone.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Times we met but didn't know [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184354
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	If I were allowed to want one thing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for your interest in reading my story (^w^)
> 
> Before you continue, please note that I'm neither an native English- nor an native Russian-speaker aaaand I didn't have a Beta-reader to sort through my mistakes, so please excuse my grammar and my spelling.
> 
> I tried to throw in a bit of fluff and make it a bit more... light-hearted? Yeah... I'm not that's what it turned out to be, still I hope you enjoy your time here (^w^)7
> 
> Translations at the end (I used an online-translator, please correct me if the internet betrayed me Ó.ò)
> 
> Even if it doesn't look like it, I really love both character, I swear! At some point I want to see them happy.
> 
> If you notice anything, please let me know so I can correct it right away (n.n)

The asset was trained to be patient. He was trained to endure torture and pain beyond the averages human’s capability, but right in this moment the asset was ready to accept any kind of punishment his handler would give him for abandoning his mission, if it meant he could get away from all those superfluous nobles and upper-classers. 

He had been sent to take out one of the heads, leading the Chinese mafia. They had started to spread into Hydras territory by blocking trading-routs and sabotaging existing contracts with already wary partners. It had just been a matter of time until the counter-strike was about to follow. His handler, a short woman half the assets height with a high-pitched voice bordering on painful in its volume had suggested to cut the problem right from the top, by getting the head-coordinator for international affairs out of the way. The internal war of who inherits the empty post would grant Hydra enough time to set up establish and re-establish their trading-routs.

The main problem to the mission was, that the man was paranoid. It went as far as not leaving his high security mansion at any point. The building was like an impenetrable bunker. Not even the asset would be able to get in without getting killed before even reaching the gate. 

His handler had been the one to provide not only a plan but also the data of the alternative to the assets most likely unsuccessful suicide mission. A charity gala the target could not not attend since he was the main patron of the event. At least one third of the mafias international trading partner would mix into the pulk of the world’s most influence people gathering there. The target would have to be there, if only to make himself present. 

How his handler had gotten the information, no one of the men and women present had cared. Before leaving for Wuhan the asset went back to the cells, where three man were lying on the floor, balancing on the tipping point between life and death. The asset tipped the scale without batting an eye as more blood began to cover the already stained concrete floor. 

It hadn’t been difficult for the asset to infiltrated the event as a waiter, mixing in with the other black and white dressed men and women. It was the perfect cover. None of the guests even looked at the servants faces hidden by hygienic masks as they grabbed for food and drinks. The white long arm shirt and black slacks were inconspicuous even though the asset would have preferred his usual tactical gear, where he could hide his weapons instead of walking into an underworld’s hot-spot in just the flimsy light cotton, but it wasn’t his place to decide. His handler had been quite clear in not causing any commotion, that could reveal his connections to Hydra. The asset had pulled on the black cotton gloves, that hid the metal hand perfectly before letting the ampoule filled with clear liquid disappear in the right sleeve of his shirt. 

No, the disguise wasn’t the problem. What really was grinding on the assets nerve was the fact, that every time he was about to slip the liquid into the targets drink, someone stepped between them, forcing the asset to redirect his plan. Again, and again and again. It was downright irritating. The onslaught of voices, sounds and scents together with the pompous and superficial conversations, the fake laughter and honey sweet flattery, filling the assets oversensitive senses almost made him wish his handler had chosen to try the option, where the asset could have tried to get into the targets fortress instead. Missions like that being the reason for Hydra to establish the Black Widows in the first place, even though this display of play and pretend could keep up with one of their training sessions easily.

The asset didn’t linger to question his orders. If it was something his handler had decided, it wouldn’t do him any good to talk back. He got himself a new tray filled with champagne flutes, before disappearing back into the crowd of people to wait for the next chance to get to his target. 

By the fourth tray of drinks being passed around it started to get difficult to ignore the sensory overload, that started to make itself present through a pounding headache. At a place this crowded enhanced senses were more disadvantage than not. The asset tried to concentrate on the soft tune playing in the background, almost swallowed by the bustle of the crowd while he continued his round, eyes never completely leaving his target. 

The silver-tray was almost empty, when the asset saw a new opportunity. The over-weighed man wearing a too tight suit was still talking to someone as he waved for the asset to bring over the two remaining flutes he was carrying. The asset gave a short nod and quickly crossed to distance between the target, who had resumed talking to a shorter, sharply dressed man and himself. 

With a quick turn, that the assert covered in a sidestep to avoid another guest, he placed the poison in the flute closer to the target, before dutifully halting next to the men with a little bow.

‘finally, took you long enough.’ The target hissed out venomously. The impatience only thickening the already heavy accent. He turned back to his conversation partner with a pretentious fake smile, that made the asset want to recoil. ‘please Mr. Stark after you...’ 

To the asset’s horror, the shorter man was about to take the altered glass. He couldn’t grab the flute any more without rising at least some suspicions, so in a desperate attempt to keep up appearance the asset faked a push from behind in which he caught the poisoned flute before it could tilt. The remaining glass tumbled over the tray only to empty itself over the perfectly fitted suit of the targets companion, leaving a big stain on the pitch-black suit jacket. 

The target was fuming, torn between furiously shouting at the asset and frantically apologizing to the shorter man, who pulled out the sateen handkerchief from his suits breast pocket, drying off the worst of the champagne spots without as much batting an eye.

‘you useless idiot, I’ll teach you to...’ the asset didn’t move, when the seething insult was about to be reinforced by the targets raised fist. It wasn’t like the man could deal out enough damage to render the asset unusable. The target might be heavy in mass, but didn’t know how to use it to his advantage. The asset could read the movement with practiced ease, after all he was familiar enough with swings directed towards him, the beatings he had to take without as much as flinch a good training. Showing resistance would only lead to them starting over.

The asset tensed, muscle memory automatically preparing for the inevitable impact, only it never came. Like the world had slowed down, he watched the other man’s hand shoot out just in time to catch the targets swing mid-air. With the shorter build, the impeccable coiffed hair and peculiarly shaved goatee, that gave him an eccentric look, the asset was surprised at the display of speed and strength. 

An even bigger surprise was the man turning towards the asset with an almost apologetic smile while casually holding the targets fist in place. ‘Would you mind giving me the flute?’ the gentle voice a pleasant change to the constant blaring noises surrounding the asset, who hesitated. Neither his status as waiter, nor his status as an asset required the other to ask for anything. They would demand and he would provide. It wasn’t like he could deny any request.

The confusion must have shown, because the eccentric looking man tentatively nudged the poisoned flute out of the assets hand, before turning back to face the target. The assets gaze followed the glass in horror, a wave of panic spreading through his body. He couldn’t let the man drink the altered fluid. The assets eyes shot up at the other man, mind racing to find a way to get the flute back, but the sight in front of him let the asset freeze. The pleasant smile had fallen instantly, turning into something sharp and threatening. The air filled with tension. When the brunet addressed the target again, all the gentle warmth he had spoken with before had disappeared and was replaced with something dark and threatening.

‘Mr. Meng, you look quite agitated. Please, have my drink. I’ll change my jacket and re-join the group for the midnight drinks later.’ The polite but sharp tone together with the way the dangerously smiling man led the targets hand down smoothly made the whole scene look casual, but the asset could see the way the targets tendons were straining against the painfully tight grip on his wrist. ‘But Mr. Stark, please, at least let me see this idiot accounted for imprudence.’ 

The asset had expected the man to relent to the targets nearly desperate stutter, but instead of the concession, that he presumed to follow, the crisp tone turned down right icy. ‘You may want to use that foul mouth for drinking right now, before you say something, that will bite you in the tail.’ the shorter man’s presence suddenly filling all the space between the three of them. It wasn’t in that oppressive, menacing way some of the asset’s handlers tend to do, when entering a room. No, the brunet’s aura was commanding and self-assured. He stood in front of the others like he owned the world and the asset wouldn’t have questioned it.

He tried not to stare at the confidently smiling man, that pressed the poisoned flute into the sweaty hand of the target, who took the offered drink with a shaky grip. It was somehow satisfying to see the target scramble backwards as soon as the hold on his wrist was released. Something the asset usually didn’t feel during missions. It was good to clear a mission, because he wouldn’t be punished for his failure, but usually the asset didn’t feel satisfaction, just as he didn’t feel remorse either. The asset was a tool to be used for this kind of work, so why was warmth raising underneath the shirt’s collar, that suddenly seemed to tighten? Why was this different? 

The man in the bespoken was still smiling that overly pleasant smile as he watched the target nip at the glass like a scolded child, a hand-shaped bruise already starting to form on pale skin. Mollified for now, the brunet turned back towards the asset, the sharp edge in his gaze fading away and was quickly replaced by the same soft smile he had offered the asset before. A smile, that caused warm tingles to run through the assets body, who clutched the tray in his hand a bit tighter to stop his arm from re-calibrating. 

The ice in the brunet’s voice, that had the target shrink into himself before was easily melting into something much softer, the sound wrapping itself around the assets pounding head like a soothing blanket. ‘Could you show me the way to the bathroom, please? I would like to check, if I need to change my shirt as well.’ 

The asset looked at the shorter man, the tone of his voice eery familiar. The asset found himself waiting to hear again. Why was that? Had he heard it before? When the other didn’t speak again, but hold the asset gaze with a questioning raise of his eyebrow, the asset realized the other was expecting a reaction, an answer. What did he want? The target was watching him with wary eyes. Had he noticed the asset wasn’t part of the hired staff? 

The asset could feel the colour drain from his face behind the mask. He didn’t remember the last minutes, the only thing he could recall were brown eyes shimmering in the warm light of the hall. Was something wrong? Was there a defect? 

The shorter man seemed to sense the assets distress. He cleared his throat, ‘bathroom, mirror, anything works for me.’ The asset desperately trying to remember, where to go. He should. He had memorized the blueprints of the mansion they were in, but it was like his mind had gone blank. The asset stared back into patient, brown eyes waiting for him to lead the way. His eyes flickered back to the target, who was already talking to another black-clad man gesturing towards the asset. He couldn’t blow his cover. The mission wasn’t over yet. Failure wasn’t acceptable. 

The asset closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate on the spotty map his spinning mind was providing, the headache not helping much either. With a little bow towards the shorter man, the asset indicated for him to follow as he steered towards the first door leading out of the main-hall. With less noise around the chances would rise for him to remember the direction he could sent the man while he made his escape. 

Out of the corner of his eyes the asset saw the red-faced target gulping down the drink he had been clutching vigorously, while glaring at the back of the shorter man’s head. The asset made a note. Mission clear. It would take a few hours for the poison to show his effectiveness, but the target would be dead before the first bird could greet the new day. By the time someone would notice the poison would have already dissolved in the cooling blood, making it untraceable. Now the only thing left was to get out of the mansion unseen and return to his handler to report.

As soon as the asset stepped out of the main room bustling with noises, he could feel a hand tentatively settling on the small of his back. He tensed for a moment, but there wasn’t any pressure that followed, the touch stayed light and the warmth seeping through thin white fabric had the asset lean into it unconsciously. He was gently nudged towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, that opened to an artfully decorated balcony. 

The asset was confused, which seemed to be an unwanted yet frequent state he found himself in when it came to the other man, who had fallen into step next to him. Hadn’t he wanted to go to a bathroom? Instead, he felt himself being stirred towards the open door. The asset could already feel the colder air on his face. 

He looked at the shorter man next to him, who simply gestured for the asset to go ahead, the warm hand on the small of the assets back not once leaving its’ spot. The steady touch was grounding, because blurred images of a women the asset didn’t know, distorted his vision. He was leading her through a crowd, so she could see a stage were the brunet man, no, someone who looked similar, was gesturing at what vaguely looked like a car. 

The phantom touch was still lingering in the assets right hand, when the sharply dressed brunet led the asset towards the little stone bench, half-hidden behind some greenery. Without missing a beat, he took off his ruined jacket and placed it on the cold stone for them to sit on. 

The asset followed and did his best to give the impression of the shocked waiter the other obviously still thought him to be, if the worry lines were anything to go by. It wasn’t hard to do so, since his vision was still spotty and the asset had trouble to focus, making him sway with every breath he sucked in. He hadn’t notices just how hard he was breathing until the warm hand started to wander up and down the asset’s spine in a soothing rhythm. The gently touch a stark difference to the rough handling of Hydras medic apartment the asset was used to during his vital-check-ups. 

The asset winced internally. He would have to report the malfunctions he had experienced during the mission. The testing and probing, that would follow as defect-report always leaving him oversensitive and aching with every movement.

The assets reaction caused the man to withdraw his hand right away, like it had been burned. The asset immediately missed the warmth. The brunet offered an apologetic smile, placing his hands in his lap, so the asset could see them, before he began to speak. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just… That guy… he’s really an unpleasant piece of work in progress, always acting like he’s something better than others just because he inherited some questionable money. Well…’ the brunet, paused his rambling for a moment to scratch the back of his head almost shyly. ‘… guess I shouldn’t judge on inherited money, but still, he didn’t have the right to act like that with you.’ 

He huffed out in annoyance, the gesture making him look impossible young for someone, who probably was running somewhere in his late thirties. The warm tingle the asset had felt before was returning, as he watched the shorter man sulkily bite his pale bottom lip, which was quickly turning rosy from teeth pulling in the tender skin. The asset followed the movement, the fluttering warmth turning into a full-on flare, that ran from the pit of the assets stomach up to his chest and cheeks before seeping into his veins. 

The sudden reaction was causing a full body shiver the asset had more trouble to suppress, than usual. The soft hum of his arm readying itself to recalibrate barely stopped in time. The malfunctions were getting worse. The assets body was risking the mission’s success, acting up to a degree he could barely control. The asset didn’t understand, ever since the still pouting brunet sitting next to him had appeared, he wasn’t fully operational anymore. But why? Had he seen through the asset? Had he been tampering with the assets body? He knew Hydra had done so on many occasions, but it had always been at the base with him strapped down to a table to keep unwanted reactions under control, while they injected one serum after another. Some had made his body burn from the inside out, leaving him screaming and trashing in his restrains to get away from the pain, that was eating him up alive, other had made his muscles cramp so tight, he could hardly breath, his cries dying in his throat. 

With strained ears the asset tried to make out any movement, that could indicate an ambush, the hidden metal-hand clenching the stone bench tight enough to make some dust crumble to the marble floor. He eyed his surroundings once more. Nothing. No others waiting. No barrel pointing into his direction, which meant if the asset had been lured into a trap, the only attacker would be the man, who had led him out. The brunet was physically fit, the demonstration inside enough proof for the asset not to head into a fight unprepared. Not having any weapons on him made the asset tense. It wasn’t like he would be lost in a hand-to-hand combat but he didn’t have a full grasp on the others abilities either, marking him an uncalculated risk.

The asset let his gaze flit towards the brunet, who had stopped his version of a sulk, to search for a possible tell of an incoming attack. What the asset found, were shining amber eyes clouded with concern, that were watching him intently. The visible tension in the assets posture caused a frown to join the apparent concern on the shorter man’s expressive face.

‘Hey,’ the tentative whisper barely audible over the indoor commotion. The asset heard it anyways, the state of alert only heightening his already enhanced senses. ‘You ok? That asshat didn’t hurt you before, did he?’ The brunet’s eyes widened for a second before the others expression suddenly turned dark. It was like a switch had been flicked. The worried tone had changed into a low growl. ‘Promise, if he hurt you, I’ll make sure his business will burn to the ground with him on a rotisserie on top, so he can see his so-called empire all crumble right before his eyes.’ 

The asset didn’t dare to move as blazing eyes pinned him in place, searching for any indications his voiced suspicion was correct. The asset swallowed hard before forcing himself to shake his head once, the jerky movement letting a loose strand of hair fall into his field of vision. 

The short man cocked his head to the side, looking at the asset for another moment before the corner of his mouth twitched and a smile began to grow that quickly turned into a warm chuckle bubbling out of the brunet’s chest. ‘Don’t look at me like that, I would never do something like that. I mean, I would make sure he pays up for hurting you, no question or jokes on that, but rotisseries do sound a bit to medieval don’t you think?’ 

The laugh was a comforting sound in the asset’s ears, all light and earnest and he found himself relaxing again. Still, he didn’t miss the sharp gaze the brunet sent into the main halls and with that, probably into the target’s direction, leaving the asset to wonder just how much of the threat had been a joke. Did this man know who he had been talking with in the hall? Or was he unaware of directly and indirectly threatening one of the most influential mafia leaders known in the eastern hemisphere. 

Either way, it left the asset in confusion, why the brunet had threatened one of the most important mafia leads in order to protect him. He couldn’t think of any occasion someone had ever tried to defend him for any reason. The warm feeling indicating another malfunction was returning, but the little crinkles around the corners of those doe eyes showing nothing but relieve, made it hard keep the ambush theory. ‘Hey, it’s true, you know who I am.’ He gave the asset a confident wink.

The asset puzzled expression turned into a frown. Did he know the man? He squinted his eyes, trying to take in the man’s appearance, illuminated by the lights of the mansion once more. So close, the asset could see single strands of grey beginning to mix with the brown hair. The little worry lines on the man’s forehead, probably hailing from a high-ranked position. He had seen them on handlers usually operating in Hydras upper ranks.

The thought of his handler sent a cold shudder down the asset’s spine, reminding him, that he had to return, that he had to make his report. The asset knew he had to, but the man with the oddly shaped goatee was still smiling at him, the laugh-lines around warm chocolate eyes letting the warmth spread over the asset’s cheeks. 

The other was probably a family man. Going with the assumption he was indeed a businessman in a leading position, he should be around the age, where society expected to see him with wife and kids at his side. The asset could picture him with kids, laughing as tiny humans clung to his legs. The thought of him with one of those pompous women on the other hand, had the assets stomach twist upside down. 

Ignoring the new malfunction, he let his gaze wander further down, over the perfectly fitted shirt, that might as well have cost a fortune, if it matched the Rolex on the mans wrist. With those intelligent eyes and the mischievous smirk, he could have walked right out of a magazine. This man wasn’t someone the asset had passed on a street. He was someone the asset would expect to be his next target, but so far, he couldn’t assign the man to either of those categories. 

The asset was watching the other in silence, before shaking his head once in lieu of an answer to the rhetorical question the shorter man had asked. There was a swirl of emotions running over the expressive face of the brunet. Surprise. Disbelieve. Hesitance, before settling back into the shy smile he had looked the asset with before. ‘Well, now I feel like Rhodey was right when he called me a big-head… don’t tell him though, he would never let me live through that.’   
The asset tilted his head. Why would this Rhodey kill this man over admitting to an unfitting name, and why would the brunet still smile so fondly while speaking of his potential murderer? The shorter man glanced up, ‘You can call me Tony if you want, but I get the feeling you ain’t much of a talker, huh?’ 

The asset shrugged. It wasn’t like anyone had ever required him to talk. He was trained to be a silent death not a chatty companion. The man, no, Tony waved through the air dismissively. ‘Don’t worry. They always tell me, that talk is silver and silence is gold or something along that lines, so you seem to be one step ahead of me here.’ Tony offered before he let his eyes wander back towards the balcony entrance, watching the dressed-up figures flit back and forth through the brightly lit halls. 

They went silent for a while, just watching the bustle from afar. When Tony spoke again, he wasn’t looking at the asset. ‘I hate these events. They are more an illusion than reality. No one really cares what it’s actually about, only interested in seeing and to be seen, I’d much rather be at home, well more specifically in my workshop, but Pepper insists that I should at least go to the them now and again, you know, to stay in touch with other human beings, even though I’ve told her so many times, that I doubt that these vipers and peacocks can be counted as humans. She can be mighty scary if refused, you know? She is that type of person you don’t want to be on the bad side...’ 

The asset didn’t know, if Tony had even meant to speak out loud, so he just gave a noncommittal nod but keeping silent otherwise. He didn’t have to anyways, because Tony was a talker, filling in the part of the asset as well. He was contempt to just sit there and listen to Tony ramble on about how this Pepper had practically dragged him of his workshop and away from his latest project, he would like to work on a lot more, than being stuck here with people who tried to suck up on him. 

It was nice to just listen. It was nice, that Tony didn’t expect anything from the asset. It was nice. Tony’s voice was nice. The asset was starting to drift of into a mushy fog, the reduced noises together with Tony’s velvety voice jumping from one topic to the other, calming the pounding headache, that had been pounding against through his skull for the better part of the evening. 

‘but you know, maybe coming here today wasn’t so bad after all. I met you…That’s a big up on all things summoned. Well, not the meet-meet part, that was bad, but you know… getting the chance to meet you.’ There was nothing left of the confident smirk Tony had worn before and not for the first time that evening the asset wondered, if the malfunctioning was affecting his perception enough for him to make up a person, since there was no realistic chance for the bashful man with reddening cheeks to be the same man, who had declared to burn an empire for the asset, if necessary.

‘would you, uhm... would you mind a drink? Together, I mean...’ the second part added hastily, when the asset was about to shake his head. ‘Only if you want to of course…’ The warm feeling that had been pulsing through the assets veins before turned hot and the asset had to tighten his grip on the bench to stop himself from gathering the shorter man fumbling with his golden cuff-links, while watching the asset with big brown eyes, that lit up in the dim light coming from the balcony door.   
Right there, hidden behind the potted greenery on the balcony of a mansion in the middle of a country the asset didn’t knew how he got to, he would have given everything to gather the brunet in his arms and protect him from all those ‘sucker-ups’ and ‘pretentious assholes’ he had complained about before. The asset didn’t even know why he wanted to do so. Something in him calling out the others name over and over again. 

There was no explanation why. The man had proven he would, by no means need the assets protection and yet, something about those twinkling eyes and coiffed brown hair, that turned into soft curls within the assets mind was making him do so. Maybe the other had been right after all, maybe the asset him after all. 

Tony was still waiting for the assets reply, hope slowly diminishing with every passing moment, getting replaced by anxiousness, the nervous chewing on his bottom lip an obvious tell. More dust crumbled to the floor as the assets metal fingers dug into the stone. He shouldn’t… He couldn’t. He was to report to his handler. He had to return. He wouldn’t see Tony again after this mission, making him exactly one of those ‘sucker-up-assholes’, that only stuck around for a night until they had gotten what they wanted, Tony had complained about before. The asset didn’t want that. 

What the asset wanted… He wasn’t sure. The asset didn’t want. He wasn’t allowed to want. He had been taught over and over again, that he had no right to want. The asset felt the realization like iron chains tightening around his chest. Staying would risk Tony’s life, because Hydra would come for him. They would come and taking down everything that threatened their reign or opposed their will. The asset had seen it often enough, had been part of it more often than he could recount. 

The asset took in Tony’s blushing face once more before giving a short nod to the question that was still lingering in the air. The smile he got in response was so bright, that it could have lit up the whole mansion. The asset was glad to wear a mask, because he didn’t know, if he could keep the neutral expression in front of the other after hearing him laugh out in relieve. 

‘Ok, uff, ok, cool great, that’s great. You wait here, I’ll just grab the first thing on a tray that’s passing me, sounds good?’ Tony was babbling out in excitement, the tension leaving the other man’s body with every quickly falling syllable. With a little wave for the asset to just stay put, Tony sprung up, crossing the balcony with a light skip in his steps. It carried the brunet back into the bustling halls out of the assets sight leaving him alone in the quite half-shadow. 

For a short moment the assets gaze was glued to the last point of visual contact he had with the white-shirted man until a sharp high-frequency noise pulled him out of the little bubble he had seemed to existed in, ever since Tony had appeared. The asset ignored the voice in the back of his mind, screaming for him to stay, to keep the other man safe, to protect him. The miniature transponder his handler had given him spurred to live again, indicating the immediate end of the mission.

The asset allowed himself one last lingering glance towards the balcony’s door, wondering if the other man would be disappointed to find him gone. He dismissed the thought, before making his escape over the parapet into the night and back to hide out where his handler was already awaiting the assets mission report. 

‘Миссия завершена.’ He uttered the words they expected to hear. His handler was standing next to one of the Hydras higher-ups, who had been part of the initial meeting as well. The asset remembered the scarred face watching him in disdain. The tall man hummed in thought and the asset could already see his fist tense. A traitorous little part within the asset hoped the hit would get caught again by hands, that he didn’t expect to be so fast. By hands, that only wanted to create. By hands that wanted to protect. 

The fist colliding with his cheekbone had him tumbling to the floor. ‘Keep me waiting one more time, useless piece of shit.’ The asset didn’t look up as his handler passed him without a word, the other man following the short woman out the assets cell. He could hear the burly man spit on the floor, the wet splotch landing close to the assets face. 

They left him alone in the cold, dark room, locking it the moment the last of the agents had stepped through the heavy iron-door, that fell in place with a loud crashing sound ringing through the silence. 

The asset didn’t move. He could feel his cheek beginning to swell, but knew it would last long. The throbbing pain a harsh reminder on where his place was. For a moment his mind flickered back to the balcony, to Tony. A pain like a bullet ripping though flesh, hot and searing made the asset bite back a tear threatening to spill. His mind conjuring up a blurry version of the short brunet, the phantom touch of a warm hand on his back making the asset curl into himself as a silent sob broke free. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to the man, promising to let the empire burn for him. Would he do it, if he saw the bruise starting to form on the asset’s cheek? 

In the silence of the cell, with no one there to see tears falling freely, with no one caring about a broken tool, the asset allowed himself to pretend it was true. At least for as long as his aching cheek was the unswerving reminder of the reality he couldn’t escape.

**Author's Note:**

> Миссия завершена. : Mission complete.


End file.
